Countdown to Love
Chapter 1
The day my husband’s “one that got away”
finalized her divorce, Mark got completely
hammered.
I took care of him until all hours, only to find
his phone gallery was crammed with pictures
of Sarah, his freakin‘ “one that got away.”
The next morning, hungover as hell, Mark
said, “Let’s have a real wedding, babe.”
I knew exactly what he was doing: trying to
lure Sarah back into his orbit.
I smiled and said yes, but in the wedding
planning contract he signed, I slipped in a
<
“Why is this wedding contract so damn
thick?”
Mark frowned, flipping through page after
page, but he wouldn’t sign.
He’s a sharp cookie, a big shot in the
business world; he wasn’t about to get
played.
And on the second to last page was my little
secret weapon: the divorce agreement.
I kept my head down, but honestly, I wasn’t
that nervous.
“Looks like a bunch of liability clauses. Take
your time, read through it all.”
He wouldn’t have the time.
く
Today was the day Sarah, his oh–so–precious
Sarah, was coming home.
Years ago, when Sarah got engaged, Mark, in
a fit of pique, decided to marry me.
Now, Sarah was divorced, and he’d gotten
drunk as a skunk, waking up proposing a
wedding do–over to me.
My marriage was just a pawn in their little
love game.
Sure enough.
The impatience on Mark’s face was obvious.
“I gotta go pick someone up at the airport.
No time for this right now.”
<
A flicker of tenderness flashed in his eyes.
The impatience was for me.
That little bit of warmth? All Sarah’s.
He scribbled his signature in a hurry, leaving
me with nothing but his retreating back.
Three days earlier, Mark had suddenly
brought up the idea of throwing a big
wedding.
We’d been married for five years, no big
party, nothing announced to the world.
Only our parents and a few close friends
knew.
Even in news articles, he was always
く
The occasional gossip column always talked
about his tragic, heartbreaking romance with
Sarah.
As his actual, secret wife, I didn’t even rate a
mention.
Truthfully, I’d always known.
Mark had a “one that got away,” a woman he
was head–over–heels for.
In five years of marriage, Mark had been
sweet, sometimes.
I tried to make him comfortable with me.
But in this house, there had never been a
smile on Mark’s face.
L
Then, one night, the man who never touched
alcohol was wasted, a smile plastered across
his face.
I did some digging and, bingo, Sarah was
divorced.
I took care of him until the wee hours, and
entered Sarah’s birthday as his phone
password.
I opened the gallery. His photos.
Only Sarah.
Not me.
The cover photo for the album was our
wedding photo.
Except he’d photoshopped Sarah’s face onto
mine.
I remembered that when we got our marriage
license, Mark didn’t want a wedding, but
insisted we take wedding pictures.
Turns out, that’s why.
In that moment, I knew.
This five–year marriage was coming to an
end.
All that was left was the waiting period for
the divorce.
The countdown.
One month
く
Fittingly, the wedding Mark promised me was
exactly one month away.
